


Answers to Questions Unasked

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Developing Relationship, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Combeferre leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “What if I told you that the world that you know is only part of a greater story? What if I told you there was magic in the world, and that you can use that magic? And what if I told you that you were not alone in that?”For a long moment, Grantaire just stared at him, and he was half-tempted to ask Combeferre just how many times he had practiced that little spiel. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m a wizard? Because I hate to inform you, but I’m a few years too old to be getting my letter to Hogwarts.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [@centrifuge-politics](https://tmblr.co/m3qqoD4aXbfLnji8ZPZ9b6g), [@delusionsofgrandr](https://tmblr.co/mg4X7oGz7TW9I2HMUYoLJGw) and [@itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare](https://tmblr.co/mBF9eho1fBGXk0HwZ4hv3Xw) all had similar prompts, so I again beg their indulgence as I am simply not creative enough to do enough worldbuilding and write three separate urban fantasy AUs (well, @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare asked for a magical coffeeshop AU. It’s coming.).
> 
> Instead, this will be a 3-part urban fantasy fic, which is mostly an excuse for me to stretch my magical worldbuilding skills.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies, with added respect and deference to all fantasy novels I have read to this point - worldbuilding is _hard_ y'all, and I have infinite respect to those who pull it off. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

Grantaire glanced nervously over his shoulder as he approached the dilapidated building. The peeling letters on the precariously-hung sign proclaimed it “The Café Musain”, but Grantaire was more concerned by the bright red poster that clearly warned: DANGER. NO TRESPASSING. STRUCTURE DEEMED UNSAFE FOR OCCUPANCY.

He looked down at the business card in his hand and wondered for about the eighteenth time in the past twenty minutes if he was crazy. The card had appeared at his apartment out of nowhere, propped against the canvas on his easel when he came back from his shift at the coffeeshop that morning. _Your presence is requested at the Café Musain tonight_ , the card said in a loopy cursive. _Show this card when asked for a password_. There had been no signature on the card, just a simple _C_.

And maybe it was because Grantaire was bored with his life, maybe it was because he was just so damn tired of the same shit day in and day out, but against all better judgment, he had decided to follow the instructions on the card.

Which left him with only one thing to do: he walked up to the door and knocked on it.

At eye height, a small hatch slid back, revealing a pair of startlingly green eyes. “Password?” a voice asked, muffled by the door.

Grantaire wordlessly held up the card, and the green eyes widened before disappearing as the hatch slid shut with a snap. For a moment, Grantaire stood there stupidly, wondering how he could possibly have fucked up instructions as easy as those had been, but then, without warning, the door swung open.

“You must be Grantaire!” the man with the green eyes exclaimed, for a second looking like he was going to hug Grantaire, thought to Grantaire’s immense relief, he seemed to think better of it. “I was told to keep an eye out for you. I’m Jean Prouvaire, but you can call me Jehan, everyone does. Are you good with plants?”

“Am I – what?” Grantaire asked, confused.

“Good with plants,” Jehan repeated, beaming, and he linked his arm with Grantaire’s and tugged him inside the café, which at first glance was as equally disgusting inside as out. “I’m so hoping you are. It’s been a long time since we found someone new, and I was hoping you might share my specialty.”

Grantaire stumbled over something in the dim light and would have fallen if it weren’t for Jehan’s iron grip on his arm. “Um, sorry, I’m afraid I’ve never really had a green thumb,” he stammered, not following along with anything Jehan was saying. “Uh, do you know why I’m here?”

Jehan turned to smile at him. “Of course,” he said brightly. “But I’m not the one who should tell you. I’ll let Combeferre take care of that.”

“Who’s Combe–” Grantaire started to ask, the words dying on his lips as Jehan led him into a cavernous room. They were still inside the dilapidated café, they had to be – Grantaire would’ve noticed them leaving. Wouldn’t he? But somehow, the tiny, crumbling café managed to contain a room the size of a small cathedral, lit with what appeared to be floating golden lights and occupied by several other people, lounging about, reading books and chatting amongst themselves. “It’s bigger on the inside, is it?” he managed weakly.

Jehan chuckled. “The comparison to Dr. Who does seem apt, I suppose. C’mon.”

He tugged Grantaire toward the far end of the room, but Grantaire had stopped in his tracks, staring at a man who was deep in conversation with someone else. Grantaire had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life, and he was only vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open. The man had blond hair that seemed to emit the same golden glow as the floating lights, his skin was pale and smooth as marble and his eyes seemed to flicker with the blue fire from the center of a flame. He was unearthly beautiful, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to paint him. Or, considering his recent art block and subsequent lack of ability, to pull out his iPhone and take a picture.

Jehan followed Grantaire’s gaze and laughed lightly. “That’s Enjolras,” he told Grantaire, who shook his head slowly as if emerging from a dream. “He has that effect on everyone.”

As if hearing his name, an impossibility at this distance, Enjolras looked up, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s, and Grantaire felt his cheeks flush. Still, he determinedly met Enjolras’s gaze, and after a moment, Enjolras returned to his conversation, a smile hovering on his lips. “Interesting,” Jehan murmured. “No one ever has that effect on him.”

Once again, Jehan linked his arm with Grantaire’s, pulling him across the room to a battered bookcase overflowing with books behind a worn but serviceable desk. Seated at the desk was a surprisingly familiar and friendly-looking man with sandy hair and oversized glasses, who stood as Jehan and Grantaire approached. “You must be Grantaire,” the man said, holding out his hand for Grantaire to shake. “I’m Combeferre.”

Grantaire shook his hand carefully, suddenly realizing where he had seen Combeferre before. “Everyone seems to know who I am,” he said cautiously, “but I don’t know what I’m doing here. Or who you are, besides the guy who came in the coffee shop the other day.”

Combeferre’s smile widened. “You’re here at my request,” he said mildly, sitting down again and gesturing for Grantaire to do the same. “Obviously you got my card.”

Grantaire blinked and slid the card out of his pocket, setting it on the desk. “This card?” he asked. “I’ll assume you’re ‘C’, then.”

Combeferre nodded. “In the flesh. As to who we are, well.” He smiled as if what he was about to say was an inside joke. “We are Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“Les Amis de...ok, sure,” Grantaire said, leaning back in his seat and considering Combeferre carefully. “And you summoned me here...why?”

Combeferre leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “What if I told you that the world that you know is only part of a greater story? What if I told you there was magic in the world, and that you can use that magic? And what if I told you that you were not alone in that?”

For a long moment, Grantaire just stared at him, and he was half-tempted to ask Combeferre just how many times he had practiced that little spiel. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “Is this the part where you tell me that I’m a wizard? Because I hate to inform you, but I’m a few years too old to be getting my letter to Hogwarts.”

Something like disappointment flashed across Combeferre’s face before being replaced by a neutral expression. “You don’t believe me,” he said calmly.

Grantaire laughed again, his laugh this time turning bitter. “Even if I believed that magic was real – and that’s a big fucking if – you really want to tell me that I somehow can control magic? I have no special talents, let alone some kind of powers. What, are you going to tell me that the rest of you are magic, too, that is some kind of stupid secret society for magicians?”

“Yes,” Combeferre said calmly. “I am.”

He stood and gestured to the man who had previously been talking to Enjolras, who bounded over, grinning. “Grantaire, this is Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said. “Courfeyrac, this is Grantaire. He seems to be having some doubts about who we are and what we do here.”

Courfeyrac’s grin widened. “So he needs a bit of a demonstration?” he asked. Combeferre nodded, and Courfeyrac turned to Grantaire. “Let’s see,” he murmured, examining Grantaire closely. “It’s easiest if I have a feeling of what you’d be like, and...ah, yes. I see.”

He waved an almost lazy hand and Grantaire’s eyes widened. He seemed to be rapidly shrinking toward the ground, and his arms and legs scrambled for purchase against the floor, not seeming to work the way they normally would. “Help!” he tried to shout, but his voice didn’t seem to work.

Instead, he meowed.

Combeferre looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “A cat, Courf?” he asked, reaching down and picking Grantaire up, rubbing his ears and ignoring Grantaire’s undignified yowls. “Normally you turn them into something matching their personality.”

“I did,” Courfeyrac said, chucking Grantaire under the chin. “This one’s prickly and likes to pretend he’s solitary, but really he craves love and attention. He’s a kitty cat through and through.”

He snapped his fingers and without warning, Grantaire was back in his normal body, sprawled in a completely undignified fashion across Combeferre’s desk. Courfeyrac smiled at him. “Good kitty,” he said before flouncing away.

Grantaire shakily sat up. “He...he just...he…” he stammered, pointing at Courfeyrac’s retreating back.

Combeferre nodded sympathetically. “Yes he did. If it makes you feel better, he turned Feuilly into a beaver when he first came here. I don’t think Feuilly lived that down for a few months afterwards. Whereas in our line of work, being a cat is almost dignified.”

Slowly, Grantaire picked himself off of Combeferre’s desk and sat back down in his chair, still a little shaky from his first encounter with magic. “So is that Courfeyrac’s power, then?” he asked, a little defiantly, still not ready to believe. “He can turn people into animals?”

“Oh, that’s only a small sample of what Courfeyrac can do, but don’t worry, anything he would do to you, for the most part, wouldn’t be permanent.”

Despite himself, Grantaire was intrigued. “Why not?”

Combeferre smiled. “Because you have magic in your blood. Magic loves magic – it’s a basic fact of nature. Therefore, magic can’t permanently alter magic. For the most part. There are always exceptions.”

“Is that how you knew I was magic?” Grantaire asked. “Did someone, uh, perform a spell on me and it didn’t stick?”

“Hardly. We have more reliable ways of telling if someone is magic or not. Namely, me.” Combeferre gestured at himself. “It’s my own magical power – I can sense magic in someone else. Back in the old days, when we had schools of magic, I would have gone out searching for young magicians and let them know who and what they are. Now that we’ve all been driven underground, I have to be a little more subtle.”

There were so many questions Grantaire wanted to ask that he latched on to what made sense like a lifesaver for a drowning man. “Schools of magic?” he asked. “Like Hogwarts? Or Brakebills?”

If Combeferre was surprised by Grantaire’s comparisons to popular culture, he didn’t show it. “More like the latter than the former,” he said. “Back in magic’s heyday, there were probably almost as many schools as there are universities. Countries, states, cities, and, of course, magical disciplines each had their own.”

“Disciplines?” Grantaire asked.

Combeferre smiled. “We’ll get to that.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Ok, so, there used to be all these magic schools, and then, what? They all disappeared?”

Combeferre’s smile faded. “That’s exactly what happened. The schools closed when magic was driven underground. All of the magical protections in place weren’t enough to satisfy the powers that be.”

He sounded oddly bitter, and Grantaire frowned. “What happened?”

“Technology happened,” Combeferre said heavily. “Twenty, even fifteen years ago, a human could accidentally witness magic and not a soul would believe them. In fact, it happened all the time. Where do you think tabloids get their info from? But in the era of smartphones and the internet, all it would take is one livestreamed video in the wrong place at the wrong time and the whole world would know about magic.”

“Which I assume is a bad thing?” Grantaire asked cautiously. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I get the Harry Potter argument – muggles would want magical solutions to all their problems. But like, there’s some problems that probably _should_ be solved with magic.”

Combeferre smiled slightly. “There are those of us who would agree with that argument, and have dedicated our powers and time to just that. And our efforts haven’t stopped because of public magic being forbidden. But we’ve had more careful about it, since unfortunately, the powers that be don’t see it that way. They see magic as something to be protected and controlled, not shared.”

“Who in the hell are these powers that be, and what do they know about it?” Grantaire asked grumpily.

Now Combeferre’s smile tightened. “The fae,” he said delicately. “Creatures born entirely of magic and loosely organized into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.” He sat back in his chair, his smile more of a grimace. “They’ve been fighting a civil war for the past two millennia, but the threat of humans learning of their existence was enough to unite them in opposition, however temporarily.”

Grantaire blinked at him. “So you’re telling me that the entire magic world is run by a bunch of fairies?” he asked slowly.

Combeferre shrugged. “More or less. They outnumber human magicians, and their magic is exceedingly more powerful. It didn’t take much convincing for the human magician schools to close and magical communities to predominantly disband.”

Shaking his head as if trying to clear it of the thousands of nonsensical things he had just been told, Grantaire decided it was time to shift gears back to something hopefully more concrete. “Ok, let’s say that I believe all of this, that this whole thing isn’t some kind of massive practical joke or hallucination or something. Just what kind of powers do you seem to think that I have?”

Combeferre hesitated for a moment. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Grantaire couldn’t help himself – he laughed. “Seriously?” he said with a snort. “You want me to believe there’s magic and fairies and you seem to think I have some kind of magical powers, but you can’t even tell me what they are?” He stood, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Well, listen, I hate to break it to you, but as fun as this has been, I’m going to take the blue pill and go back to my miserable existence because at least things made sense there.”

Combeferre didn’t seem at all perturbed by Grantaire’s outburst. If anything, he looked like he had been expecting it. “I said that I didn’t know what kind of powers you had,” he said quietly. “I didn’t say that there wasn’t a way to find out.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless, that is, if you’d rather, as you say, take the blue pill.”

For a moment, Grantaire considering saying just that, that he didn’t give a flying fuck about finding out about his so-called magical abilities, that he’d rather just go back to his dingy apartment and his shitty, dead-end job and never think about magic again. But Grantaire had also cried when the first of September after his eleventh birthday came and went with no letter from Hogwarts, and maybe this wasn’t a creamy sheet of parchment embossed with a school seal, but fuck, at this point, he’d take it.

“I changed my mind,” he said brightly. “I’ll take the red pill.”

Again, Combeferre didn’t seem surprised. Instead, he stood. “Alright, then. Follow me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more worldbuilding. Because I can't stop myself.

Combeferre led Grantaire down a hallway off the main, cavernous room, and Grantaire glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see that pretty much everyone was following them. “I feel like I’m being led to my death,” Grantaire whispered, more to himself than Combeferre.

“Don’t mind them,” Combeferre said, which Grantaire thought was pretty easy for him to say, since he wasn’t the one being watched by ten pairs of eager eyes. “We haven’t had a new recruit in some time, so everyone’s excited to see what kind of magic you can do.”

Though he was finding it hard to not keep looking behind him, especially since he couldn’t see to stop glancing over at Enjolras, Grantaire forced himself to look at Combeferre. “So is there some kind of test to see what kind of magic I can do?”

Combeferre pushed the door at the end of the hall open and stepped inside, holding the door open for Grantaire and everyone behind him. “It helps if you don’t think of it as a test,” he hedged, as Grantaire paused awkwardly in the middle of the circular, stone room while the others filed around the outside of the circle and took their respective seats. 

“Yeah, right,” Grantaire said, glancing uneasily at the assembled people. They were all roughly Grantaire’s age, mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and all looked nice enough, but Grantaire didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. Which given their assumed magical powers was probably not that far. “I don’t know, this is some Jedi Council testing Anakin Skywalker bullshit going on right now.”

An auburn-haired man on the right giggled and for the first time, all eyes weren’t on Grantaire as everyone looked over at him. “Oh come on, he’s kind of right,” the guy said.

“If this is the Jedi Council, I want to be Mace Windu,” the bald-headed man to his left said with a grin.

“Only if I get to be Yoda!” a dark-haired girl called from across the room.

Combeferre held up his hands for quiet. “Fascinating though this conversation is,” he said dryly, and a few people smirked, “we’re here for a reason. Why don’t we go around the room and have everyone introduce themselves to Grantaire and tell him what their discipline is.”

A big, almost hulking guy on the far right rolled his eyes. “Ok, professor,” he said under his breath.

“For that, Bahorel, you can start,” Combeferre said with a smirk.

Bahorel rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Bahorel, mage, fighting,” he said, as if the three words should be enough to tell Grantaire what he needed to know.

Of course, they weren’t, and Grantaire stared blankly at him, waiting for a further explanation. Instead, the guy next to Bahorel stood, smiling at Grantaire. “Feuilly,” he said with a wave. “Wizard, wand-class.”

“Uh,” Grantaire started, feeling like he should interrupt before this continued, but it was to no avail. 

A blonde girl stood, smiling sweetly at him. “Cosette,” she told him, her voice ringing through the stone chamber. “Sorceress. Emotional manipulation.”

She said the last part like it was an inside joke, but Grantaire, who was beginning to panic, didn’t even notice. “Excuse me!” he said loudly as Cosette took her seat and Courfeyrac started to stand up. “Hi, yeah, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Enjolras gave Combeferre a look. “Didn’t you explain the differences to him?” he asked, and despite his panic, Grantaire felt like he just might swoon at the sound of Enjolras’s voice. 

Combeferre looked defensive for a moment before his expression suddenly went blank. “Actually,” he said, a little shamefacedly, “I completely forgot.”

Everyone around the room groaned and rolled their eyes. “Make it quick, would you?” the guy with auburn hair complained. “I’m missing Grey’s Anatomy for this.” 

“Well heaven forbid you have to wait to watch the latest installment of the soap operatic life of Meredith Grey on demand for this,” Courfeyrac said sarcastically before smiling at Combeferre and Grantaire. “The rest of us are more than happy to wait.”

Combeferre took a deep breath before turning to Grantaire. “So let’s start at the beginning,” he said carefully. “Essentially, there’s two types of magical humans in the world: those with magical powers, and those with magical abilities. Those with magical abilities are born, whether through a quirk of genetics or what have you, with the ability to manipulate the magical powers that already exist in the universe. Those born with magical powers, on the other hand, create their own magic.”

While Grantaire nodded like he understood, he also blurted, “Ok, but not to be pedantic, but you definitely used the two terms interchangeably before.”

“That’s because the lines between the two types, while separate and distinct, can sometimes be a bit blurry,” Combeferre told him. “But what’s important is that the two types define the four broad categories of human magicians.”

He waved a hand towards Jehan, who beamed and waved at Grantaire. “Jehan is our resident witch.” Grantaire frowned but Combeferre cut him off before he could even ask his question. “Witchcraft is not gender-defined, despite human attempts over the centuries to make it so. Witchcraft is the ability to use plant magic to make potions, poultices, and other things of that nature.”

“Hence why Jehan wanted to know if I was good with plants,” Grantaire murmured, things slowly clicking into place in his admittedly overtaxed mind. “So that would be a type of magical ability, right?”

Combeferre grinned, looking almost proud that Grantaire had put it together. “That is correct. And figuring out if you’re a witch is actually the easiest test of the four.”

Without warning, he seized Grantaire’s left wrist, twisting his hand around so that his palm was up. Jehan practically bounded over and carefully placed a seed in Grantaire’s palm before gently closing Grantaire’s fingers around it. For a moment, Grantaire stood there, seed in his hand, feeling like an idiot, before Jehan told him excitedly, “Ok, now -- open your hand!”

Grantaire opened his hand and the seed dropped to the floor, bouncing off the stone. “Oh, well,” Jehan said, clearly disappointed, and he bent and scooped up the seed. “You’re not a witch.”

“What was it supposed to do?” Grantaire asked, curious, as Jehan returned to his seat.

“If you had been a witch, the seed would have sprouted and the plant inside would have bit your thumb, leaving a scar that would forever be green,” Jehan told him, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “See? You’d have a green thumb. That’s where humans get the term ‘green thumb’ from him.” He shook his head sadly. “All that time and energy wasted dunking and burning people in the Middle Ages, and all they ever had to actually do was check their thumbs.”

“Yeah, it’s like they were too busy just killing any woman who dared to have an opinion to care if she was actually a witch or not,” the dark-haired girl said sarcastically.

“Thank you, Éponine,” Combeferre said calmly. “Why don’t you demonstrate our next category of magic?”

Éponine stood, scowling, and Grantaire for the first time noticed that she held a long staff in her hand. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had missed it before, since it had an intricately carved wolf head on the top, but then again, Éponine was sitting two seats down from Enjolras which probably explained Grantaire’s lack of notice. “Yer a wizard, Harry,” Éponine told Grantaire. “Or at the very least, I am.”

She muttered something under her breath and her staff glowed an eerie purple and the wolf head disappeared, reappearing in the form of an actual wolf at Éponine’s side. Grantaire jumped backward as the wolf playfully snapped in his direction, and Éponine laughed. “Sorry, he doesn’t like strangers,” she said, sounding anything but sorry.

Combeferre looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Éponine, Feuilly and Joly are all wizards, which means they have the ability to channel the power of magical objects, whether a staff like Éponine or a wand like Feuilly or even a sword, which is what Joly has.”

Joly, the auburn-haired guy, waved a little sheepishly and gestured at the katana across his lap. “It chose me,” he assured Grantaire. “I’m neither douchey nor pretentious enough to want to walk around wearing a sword like some kind of dudebro with a fedora.”

“Hey,” the bald-headed guy said, affronted. “I own a fedora.”

Joly patted his hand. “No, you don’t,” he told him. “I threw it out and didn’t tell you. Do better for yourself.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Anyway, theoretically, a wizard could channel the power of any magical object, and directs that power using magic spells. But magical objects have a consciousness of their own, which means you first need to win the approval of the object in question before we can even see if you are a wizard.”

Grantaire stared at him. “And, um, how exactly do you expect me to accomplish that?”

“Easy.” It was Éponine who answered, her hand resting lightly on her wolf’s head. “Ask my wolf to turn back into my staff. If it does, it means it will yield to you, temporarily. And if it doesn’t, well…”

She trailed off, her smile suddenly as wolf-like as the animal beside her, and Grantaire gulped. He glanced over at Combeferre, who was watching him impassively, and chanced a look at Enjolras for moral support or just to die with a really pretty image in his mind. Then he looked at the wolf.

“Um, hi,” Grantaire said, feeling equal parts stupid and terrified that he was talking to an animal that had previously been a staff. “Could you, um, turn back into the staff? Please?”

For a moment, the wolf just stared at him, its yellow eyes unreadable. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the wolf was gone, the staff lying against the ground. Cheers and applause broke out and Grantaire got the sudden feeling that many of those gathered had thoroughly expected him to die.

Not exactly feeling reassured, he bent and picked up the staff. “Now what?” he asked.

Éponine looked at him like he was an idiot. “Now you try to cast a spell,” she said, like it was obvious.

“I don’t know any spells,” Grantaire shot back.

“Of course you do,” Éponine said scornfully. “You’ve read Harry Potter. Try one of those.”

Grantaire stared at her. “But those aren’t _real_ spells.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a human’s gotten something right,” Feuilly said, pulling out his own wand and pointing it at Jehan. “ _Accio_.” Jehan’s scarf flew over to Feuilly, who wrapped it around his own neck. “It clashes with your shirt,” Feuilly told Jehan, who looked outraged.

Grantaire looked down at the staff in his hand, shrugged, and held it up before firmly reciting, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

Nothing happened.

“You forgot the swish and flick,” Éponine said with a smirk, striding over to retrieve her staff. “And sorry to break it to you, but you’re not a wizard.”

“Which brings us to sorcery!” Courfeyrac said excitedly, practically leaping out of his seat. “The third and final kind of magic that falls under magical abilities, sorcery is very similar to wizardry, except that the sorcerer -- or sorceress--” He bowed to Cosette, who rolled her eyes “--channels magical power not from an object but from the universe.”

Combeferre huffed grumpily, clearly put out that Courfeyrac had stolen his thunder. “Yes, and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re lucky that we have Courfeyrac and Cosette here, because the only test to see if you’re a sorcerer involves other sorcerers. Courfeyrac can manipulate physical matter as he so charmingly showed you earlier, and Cosette, for lack of a better term, is an empath. She can read and manipulate emotions.”

Grantaire looked over at Cosette, who smiled, and suddenly felt a warm wash of contentment steal over him. “So you’re basically Jasper from Twilight,” Grantaire told her.

Cosette shrugged. “There are worse characters to be.”

Grantaire glanced uneasily at Courfeyrac. “So how does _this_ test work?” he asked.

“Easy,” Courfeyrac told him breezily. “Sorcery is about manipulating the ley lines of the universe, right? Or, like, channeling the Force, if you’d rather go with a Star Wars reference. So what Cosette and I will do is manipulate the ley lines surrounding you to the point of being so obvious that anyone with even a hint of sorcery will be able to see them. If you can’t, then you’re not a sorcerer.”

“So I just have to look for something I can’t see?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Pretty much.” He held his hand out to Cosette. “You ready?”

Cosette nodded and stood, keeping Courfeyrac’s hand grasped firmly in hers. They began chanting in unison in some language that Grantaire didn’t recognize, a slow curl of mist seeming to swirl from the floor to cover them as they chanted. Grantaire stared around him, his eyes wide, but he couldn’t see any lines. “Should I be seeing them by now?” he asked anxiously.

As one, Cosette and Courfeyrac stopped chanting, and Courfeyrac looked disappointed. “They’re right there,” he said helpfully, pointing at something Grantaire clearly didn’t see. “Clear as day.”

Cosette sighed and dropped Courfeyrac’s hand. “Oh, well. Maybe the next one will be another sorcerer.”

“So I’m not a sorcerer, and I’m not a witch, and I’m not a wizard,” Grantaire said slowly, looking over at Combeferre. “What does that leave?”

Combeferre smiled at him. “That leaves magical powers. Congratulations, Grantaire, you’re an elemental mage.”

Grantaire blinked. “So I can, what, manipulate the elements? Or, let me guess, a specific element. Like, gosh, I don’t know, Avatar: the Last Airbender?” He snorted with derision. “Can’t you people come up with anything original?”

“It’s not that simple,” someone said, and Grantaire turned to scowl at the only other woman in the room, whose locs were pulled up in a complex knot on top of her head. “On the surface, yes, some elemental mages can manipulate one of the four elements: air, water, fire, earth. But for the most part, those elements are just convenient headers for the vast amount of other powers there are.”

“Think X-Men more than Avatar,” Courfeyrac interjected helpfully.

The woman nodded. “Right. Like take Bahorel, for instance -- his power is physical, fighting magic. That type of magic is housed under the fire element. And I’m a healer, which is water magic.”

“Musichetta’s right,” Combeferre told Grantaire. “I’m also an elemental mage -- air magic, linked to knowledge and ideas. And poor Bossuet is our earth mage with the worst luck in powers possible.”

Grantaire looked at Bossuet, curious despite himself. “Why, what’s your power?”

Bossuet sighed, pulled a pebble out of his pocket, squeezed it in his hand for a moment, and opened his hand to reveal a perfect shining diamond. Grantaire’s mouth dropped open. “How in the _hell_ is that an unlucky power?” he demanded.

“Because I can’t do anything with the diamonds,” Bossuet said gloomily. “Not in today’s market. The demand is for conflict-free diamonds, and since I don’t have paperwork for diamonds I made out of rocks, I can’t prove these weren’t mined from someplace they shouldn’t be, which means no one will buy them.” He tossed the diamond moodily into the air and caught it again. “They make nice paperweights, though.”

“So what’s my element, then?” Grantaire asked. “Surely there’s some test for this. What, do you I stick my hand in a fire and if I don’t get burned, I’m a fire mage?”

Combeferre shook his head. “Not really how it works, though that would be convenient.” He hesitated. “This is sort of as far as we can go for the moment until you reveal some kind of power.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked, feeling like his heart had dropped all the way to his knees.

“I mean that element is determined by your power, not the other way around, except in the case of pure elemental manipulation, which you would already know by now if you could do. So until we know your power…”

Combeferre trailed off and Grantaire looked blankly at him before letting out a croaky laugh. “So you mean, everything here, this entire test bullshit, all just led to the same exact point where you think I have powers that I’ve yet to reveal?” He shook his head, almost furious, his hands curled into fists. “And here I was, almost stupid enough to believe you that I was special. Should’ve known better.”

Without another word, he turned on heel and stalked out of the room. He didn’t know how he could have been so stupid, how he could have let his hopes get built up just to be disappointed as always. 

He stormed through the cavernous room and yanked the door open to head back through the dilapidated café to the real world, but stopped when he felt a warm hand close around his wrist. “Where are you going?” Enjolras’s musical voice asked, and Grantaire whirled around so fast that he almost got dizzy and fell over.

Enjolras was looking at him with something like concern marring his glorious features, and Grantaire forced a smile onto his face. “Leaving,” he said, torn between yanking his arm away and wanting Enjolras to never stop touching him. “This whole thing was a waste of time. I don’t have any powers and since I can’t reveal what I don’t have…”

He trailed off when Enjolras shook his head. “What your powers are doesn’t matter as much right now as knowing that you have powers,” he told Grantaire in a low voice. “Now that you know what you are, everything changes. It’s no longer safe for you out there.”

“That’s sweet and all, but I think I’ll take my chances,” Grantaire told him. Then, abruptly, he asked, “Which of the four kinds of magic are you?”

Enjolras smiled. “None of the above,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to tuck a lock of blond hair behind his ear, and for the first time, Grantaire realized that Enjolras’s ears were pointed. “I am one of the fae.”

“So you’re telling me you’re a fairy?” Grantaire blurted, surprised.

Enjolras’s eyes gleamed and his smile widened. “In more ways than one.”

Grantaire stared up at him, a million different questions running through his head. He decided against asking Enjolras if he could fly, instead asked, “So are you with the Seelie or Unseelie Court?”

Enjolras’s smile faded slightly. “That’s a simple question with a very complicated answer,” he said carefully.

Grantaire laughed dryly. “So apparently is everything in my life today.” He looked pointedly down at where Enjolras’s fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d rather get back to where simple questions have simple answers.”

“Wait,” Enjolras commanded, his brow furrowing. “There are things I want to explain to you, things you need to know.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked tiredly. “I’m not special. I don’t even know what my powers are. Besides, I have to get home. I work the early shift tomorrow and since I apparently don’t have the ability to be magically rich, I have to actually go into work.”

Enjolras frowned, something determined in his expression. “Where do you work at?” he asked.

Grantaire narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Sacred Grounds coffee shop on 34th Street. Why?”

“Because I think I can help you figure out your powers.”

Now Grantaire gaped at him. “Why would you want to do that?” he demanded.

Enjolras just smiled, winked at him, and disappeared. The only sign he had ever been there at all was the faint, glowing outline of his fingers on Grantaire’s wrist where he had touched him.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...got away from me a bit. I may end writing more in this AU, if only to just not waste all of the worldbuilding. We'll see.

The door to Sacred Grounds coffeeshop jingled and Grantaire looked up, trying not to look too eager. As soon as he saw that it wasn’t Enjolras, however, his face fell into its usual bored expression and he turned back to what he was doing. “You’re awfully eager to greet customers today,” his coworker, Marius, remarked as he refilled the bean grinder with espresso beans. “Or are you waiting on someone in particular?”

Grantaire just grunted in response. He was hardly going to admit to Marius of all people that he was waiting for a blond fairy to waltz through the door. After all, he didn’t even want to admit it to himself, and was perfectly content to pretend like the previous day just didn’t happen, even if he had spent half the night lying in bed trying to force his magical powers to somehow reveal themselves.

Needless to say, they hadn’t.

Grantaire scowled as he wiped the counter and filled up a cup with coffee, and he half-turned to call to Marius, who was headed to the supply closet, “Hey, we need more large cups!” When he turned back around, he dropped the cup, the coffee spilling everywhere where he had just wiped. Everywhere, that is, except for the immediate vicinity of the pale, perfect hands that were resting lightly against the edge of the counter.

“Oops,” Enjolras said, the hint of a grin on his face as Grantaire swore and started to mop the coffee up. “I didn’t cause you to do that, did I?”

Grantaire decided not to give him the satisfaction of answering that question. “What did you do, just appear in here?” he asked through clenched teeth, making sure to “accidentally” flick some coffee in Enjolras’s direction.

Enjolras avoided the coffee easily and raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Of course I did,” he said, like it should be obvious. “What, did you expect me to walk here?”

“Fly, maybe,” Grantaire grumbled. “Aren’t you supposed to be a fairy, after all?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “One of the _fae_ ,” he corrected. “And while I _can_ fly, it takes longer than just, you know, appearing.”

“And what about the international statute of secrecy or whatever?” Grantaire pressed. “Doesn’t just appearing in a coffeeshop kind of violate the terms the Seelie and Unseelie Courts set forward to try and hide magic from prying humans’ eyes?”

Shrugging fluidly, Enjolras leaned against the counter again, idly tracing his finger through the spilled coffee, which turned gold at his touch. “If this were a human coffeeshop, maybe that’d be a concern. But you work in a magic coffeeshop, which I just assumed you knew.”

Grantaire paused mid-wipe and stared at Enjolras. “A magic coffeeshop?” he repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Enjolras looked pointedly at the couple by the windows who were wearing matching hoodies with the hoods up while sipping their coffees. “I mean, those two over there are fae. The guy who just left? A sorcerer. Oh, and your coworker?”

Grantaire shot a scandalized look at the supply closet door. “Don’t tell me Marius is a fairy, too.”

“Got it in one,” Enjolras said with a grin. His grin faded slightly when he saw the look on his face, and his brow furrowed. “Did you really not realize that this coffeeshop pretty exclusively tailors to the fae and magical humans?”

Now Grantaire glared at Enjolras. “Before yesterday, I didn’t even know that there _were_ fae and magical humans,” he hissed. “I only got a job here because it was the only place within, like, five blocks of my apartment that was hiring when I was looking for work.”

Enjolras looked a little surprised. “You mean you live around here?” he asked.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “If you tell me that this is some kind of magical area and I should have just known--” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“Quite the opposite, actually. This is a magic-free zone. This coffeeshop is actually the center of the zone.” He gestured around. “We’re on neutral territory here. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts signed a treaty in this spot some, oh, I don’t know, four hundred or so years ago? And ever since, fae and human magicians alike can enjoy the relative peace of the area, so long as they keep their magic to themselves.” Enjolras shrugged. “Of course, it wasn’t a coffeeshop back then. It was a clearing in a wood, and when the neutral territory was established, the entire clearing turned golden. It was literally sacred ground, you see?”

His tone was almost wistful, and for a moment, Grantaire hesitated before he said, “You talk about it like you were there.”

Enjolras grimaced. “I was, rather against my will. I was a hostage of the Unseelie Court at the time, and my release was part of the treaty negotiations.”

Grantaire gripped the counter to keep from falling over. He knew he had more important things to care about, but his brain was still scrambling through the mental calculus of what it did to his chances with Enjolras to find out he was over 400 years old. “Hey I got your cups,” Marius said, his words dying in his throat as he stared at Enjolras, his eyes wide. “Um, hi, Enjolras. You’re, uh, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Enjolras’s smile was brittle. “Pontmercy,” he said coolly, dipping his head in greeting. “I’m allowed to be in the neutral zone.”

“Allowed to be is not the same thing as supposed to be,” Marius muttered, and his eyes darted left and right as if he expected someone to show up. “You’re a fugitive, and if anyone from the Seelie Court knew--”

BANG.

The door to the coffeeshop flew open and Marius let out a yelp, practically diving back into the supply closet, closing and locking the door behind him. Grantaire and Enjolras both turned to look at the man standing in the door. He had dark, shaggy hair that hung over one eye, and Grantaire gulped, because the man’s -- or probably more accurately, the fairy’s -- eyes were as black as night. “Leave,” the fairy said, snapping his fingers at the two fae seated by the windows, and without complaint they scurried out of the coffeeshop. The fairy turned his gaze on Enjolras, something in his smile triumphant. “So,” he said.

“Montparnasse,” Enjolras said, his teeth clenched, and Grantaire, who would be unable to later explain what possessed him to do it, forced a smile on his face and said, “Hi, welcome to Sacred Grounds! Would you like to try our new caramel and white chocolare latte?”

Thankfully, Montparnasse ignored him, his eyes not leaving Enjolras. “I hardly expected you to wander back around the neutral zone,” he told Enjolras, still grinning ferally. “The King will be so pleased to hear that he can call off his search parties.” His smile widened. “Or should I say, your father will be pleased.”

Enjolras scowled. “The King is not my father,” he told Montparnasse. “And he can’t have it both ways. He can’t simultaneously claim that I am a changeling and thus citizen of the Unseelie Court and then demand I return to pay him fealty as a citizen of the Seelie Court.”

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. “Still this old argument, I see,” he sighed. “You denigrate the king, who saw fit to grant you full citizenship as a member of the Seelie Court, who adopted you when you were only a babe and your foul Unseelie mother died. You are the one who would have it both ways, Enjolras -- you would deny that you are a demon of the darkness and a prince of the light. You must be one or the other.”

“I am neither,” Enjolras spat. “I reject the Court of my birth and the Court in which I was raised. I am neither Seelie nor Unseelie, and the King of the Seelie Court has no authority over me.”

“Hang on a second,” Grantaire said, holding up both his hands and looking back and forth between Enjolras and Montparnasse. “I thought Seelie meant ‘light’ and Useelie meant ‘dark’. Shouldn’t that make Enjolras a Seelie fairy and you, uh, whatever your name is, Unseelie?”

Montparnasse rolled his eyes. “Foolish human,” he sneered. “The Courts aren’t divided by light and dark appearances but by our views of magic. The Seelie fae don’t want humans to know of magic, and the Unseelie do.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes. “Simplistic as always, Montparnasse,” he said scornfully. “The Seelie don’t want humans to know about magic because they want to continue using magic to influence the world without humans knowing that they are.”

“And the Unseelie want humans to know about magic so that they can subjugate them and rule them by their superior powers,” Montparnasse shot back. “You can try to deny your nature, but the truth will out, and you have always seen yourself as superior to humans.”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed. “The only view I share with my birth Court is that humans should know that magic exists so that they know their own potential to fight it. Humans are smarter and better than the fae have ever given them credit for, and I’d rather see the Courts abolished than bow to their continued plans to keep humanity in the dark.”

Montparnasse smiled slightly. “And that’s your plan, isn’t it,” he said with false sweetness. “You want to lead some sort of _rebellion_ against your own kind.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Enjolras said. “Maybe I still believe that the Courts can change their ways, especially if they have a change in leadership.”

Montparnasse stared at him. “Is that a threat against your king?” he asked.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Please. I’ve already stated, he’s not my king. And I have grown tired of this conversation.” He waved his hand almost carelessly. “Leave, Montparnasse. You’ve accomplished nothing here.”

Montparnasse bristled. “I’m not leaving without bringing you in as I am tasked to do.”

“You would challenge me?” Enjolras asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Montparnasse’s lip curled. “I have the authority of the Seelie Court behind me. _They_ challenge you.”

“And as one of the original signatories of the neutrality treaty, I have the authority to order you from the neutral zone,” Enjolras said in a thundering voice, his skin seeming to crackle with light as he glared at Montparnasse.

Montparnasse didn’t shrink back. “You may have the authority, but you will still have to make me, _Prince_ ,” he spat, and without warning, a black sword appeared in his hand, and he swung it at Enjolras.

“No!” Grantaire shouted, completely forgetting that he was human, completely forgetting that he had powers that had thus far manifested, thinking only of Enjolras, and what the wickedly sharp blade could do to his gorgeous face. He reached out to grab Montparnasse’s wrist, halting the sword mid-swing, and Montparnasse shrieked with pain, dropping the sword, which dissolved into black mist. With one last look of loathing at Enjolras, Montparnasse disappeared on the spot, Grantaire’s hand closing on thin air as Montparnasse’s wrist disappeared.

Enjolras rushed forward, grabbing Grantaire’s arm and examining his hand closely. “Touch me,” he said abruptly, and Grantaire, still staring at the spot where Montparnasse had been, looking up at him startled. “Touch me,” Enjolras repeated.

Grantaire hesitated for only a moment before reaching up to cup Enjolras’s cheek.

Enjolras hissed with pain and jerked back, and Grantaire was shocked to see an imprint of his hand on Enjolras’s cheek. He looked down at his hand and let out a yelp. His hand was a dull grey color, and, as he prodded it with his other hand to confirm, hard as metal. “Iron,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire looked up at him guiltily, though he was flooded with relief when he saw the skin on Enjolras’s face slowly healing itself. “You turned your hand into iron.” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, though his smile seemed more like a grimace. “Congratulations, it looks like you’ve discovered your magic power, earth mage.”

Grantaire looked down at his hand in horror. “I turned my hand into iron?” he repeated, panicking. “How do I turn it back?”

Enjolras reached out and grabbed Grantaire’s wrists, carefully avoiding the metal hand. “Start by taking a deep breath,” he said firmly. “Now fix the image of your hand as it normally is in your mind. Then simply project that image onto your hand.”

Grantaire was tempted to smack him with his iron hand for how unhelpful those directions were, but shockingly, part of him seemed to understand exactly what Enjolras meant, and slowly, the metal receded, leaving Grantaire’s hand normal. “See?” Enjolras said, letting go of Grantaire’s wrists. “Easy enough.”

Grantaire took a deep, shuddering breath, holding his shaking hands in front of his face.. “Ok,” he said, his voice about an octave higher than normal. “What the hell just happened?!”

Enjolras shrugged. “I told you I’d help you figure out your powers. Technically, I did.” Grantaire shot him a look and Enjolras looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Sometimes, extreme stress brings out latent magical powers. We’re just lucky that your power is as amazing as it is or I might have had to actually fight Montparnasse.”

“How is having a hand that turns into iron amazing?” Grantaire demanded.

“Well, firstly, I imagine it’s not just your hand. You can probably turn your entire body into iron. And it’s amazing because iron is the only weapon humans can use against the fae.” There was a hungry look in Enjolras’s eyes and Grantaire shifted uncomfortably and looked away, all too familiar with the look -- it was the same look he had whenever he looked at Enjolras, for markedly different reasons. “You’re basically a living weapon against the fae. That makes you extremely powerful -- and puts you in extreme danger.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Danger?” he asked, his voice almost hollow.

Enjolras nodded. “When Montparnasse tells the Seelie Court what you did to him, they’ll come after you. And it’s only a matter of time before the Unseelie Court realizes your potential and comes after you as well.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked, though at this point he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. “To, what, kill me?”

Enjolras hesitated. “They’ll either want to kill you or use you. If one of the Courts captured you and put you under a spell, they could use a weapon to wipe out the opposing Court once and for all.”

Grantaire shook his head again, and he slumped over to sit down at a table, staring almost blankly ahead. “I finally get how Harry Potter felt in 5th book when he was freaking out that he was the weapon,” he said weakly. “First time I ever thought I’d actually identify with 5th Book emo Harry Potter.” Enjolras just raised an eyebrow and Grantaire sighed. “So the Seelie and Unseelie Courts are after me. Is there anything I can do?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, surprised. “You can come with me.”

Grantaire gave him a skeptical look. “Why? So you can use me as well?”

Now Enjolras looked affronted. “I don’t want to use you!” he said, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he elaborated, “I mean, yes, so I have a plan to take down the Seelie and Unseelie Courts and I would be honored if you would fight alongside me. In return, I will offer every protection I can. But I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”

Grantaire looked away, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he considered it. Abruptly, he asked, “What was Montparnasse talking about? You being a changeling, or whatever?”

Enjolras smiled grimly. “I was born to an Unseelie fairy, many years ago -- under a dark moon, if you believe that sort of thing. Shortly after giving birth, my mother was set upon by a group of Seelie faeries, and killed. When the king of the Seelie Court learned of what had happened, he took me in.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “There is a long and complicated history of changelings in the fairy world. I don’t know what my father intended, but he obviously thought it would be beneficial to have an Unseelie fairy with allegiance to him.” A sudden fierce smile lit his face. “But what he didn’t predict was that by giving me changeling status, he was offering me the only thing I would want most: my freedom. As a changeling, I owe allegiance to neither court.” He glanced over at Grantaire. “Of course, if you do decide to take my offer of protection, you should know it would be dangerous.”

“Dude, you have a plot to overthrow the fairy courts, which are apparently powerful enough that they forced all the human magicians into hiding.” Grantaire laughed dryly. “I kinda figured out for myself that it would be dangerous.”

Enjolras didn’t laugh. “You could die,” he warned, his expression completely serious.

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, I gotta go some way, don’t I? Besides, you’re not giving me enough credit. I can apparently make my entire body into a weapon against the people that want to kill me. So what’s the worst that could happen? I’m practically untouchable.”

Sometimes in Enjolras’s face softened. “If only you were,” he murmured, reaching out to brush Grantaire’s cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. The gesture was so quick and so surprising that Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure that it happened at all. “So will you join me, then? And all of Les Amis? Do you accept my offer: my protection for your promise to fight?”

“As long as it’s at your side, I’d gladly fight,” Grantaire blurted, not even caring that he sounded like a sap.

Enjolras smiled slightly, something sad in his smile. “Then we have a pact. And to seal the oath--” Without warning, he leaned down and kissed Grantaire lightly on the lips. “The oath kiss. Our pact is sealed.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was expecting, whether it was the Earth to move or something, but everything seemed the same and he wasn’t sure how that could be, when he had just been kissed by the most beautiful creature on the planet. “Was that wholly necessary?” he croaked.

Enjolras considered this for a moment. “No. But it is traditional.” He rocked back on his heels. “When you are finished here, come back to the Musain. We have work to do, and no one will dare touch you again today.”

There were as usual ten thousand things Grantaire wanted to say, but he settled for giving Enjolras a mocking salute. “Sure thing,” he said.

Enjolras slowly backed away, his eyes not leaving Grantaire’s. “You’re more powerful than you realize,” he said quietly. “And with time, you will realize it.” Grantaire had nothing to say to that, so he just shrugged slightly and Enjolras smiled before reaching around the counter and grabbing Grantaire’s cup of coffee. “Oh, and you might want to tell Marius that he can come back out of the supply closet,” he said casually, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth as he took a sip.

Grantaire glanced guiltily at the closet door. He had completely forgotten that Marius was still hiding in there. “Oh, right.” He looked back at Enjolras. “So I guess I’ll see you soon.”

Enjolras’s expression was unreadable but his eyes were warm as he smiled at Grantaire. “I guess you will.” He inclined his head toward him in a strangely formal gesture. “And I look forward to it.”

Then he was gone, and Grantaire stared after him, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He looked down at his hand once more, flexing his fingers, and he groaned out loud. “Christ, I’m fucked, aren’t I?” he asked to no one in particular, and as if in response, Marius tapped tentatively on the closet door. Grantaire sighed and slumped over to let him out. 

But as he walked over, he raised a hand to touch his lips, and he also couldn’t help but smile, just a little.  



End file.
